


Dear Diary

by QuillerQueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Diary/Journal, F/M, inspired by Bridget Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 01:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18201677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: Regina Mills is not a diary person, but if she must have one and vent her frustrations, Robin Locksley will certainly feature heavily.Very loosely inspired by Bridget Jones, mostly in form.





	Dear Diary

_**September 24, 2014** _

Dear diary,

.

.

. 

This is pointless. _You_ are pointless.

But Dr Hopper is refusing to clear me unless I _employ appropriate coping techniques_ to tackle my anger management issues. A task that, ironically, is making me absolutely livid. At least I’m _consciously examining my emotions_ , right?

So here I am, talking to a dead tree. Mary Margaret would have a field day with that. God, she must never know—she’d probably try to rope me into scrapbooking again, or that new bullet journal trend she’s been fawning over lately.

  * Mood: :-| mostly annoyed
  * Sleep: 6 hrs
  * Coffee units: 5
  * Outbursts: 2 / 3 (managed / total, the last one perfectly well-deserved by that moron on the budgetary planning commission)
  * Grateful for: said moron resigning from the budgetary planning commission



...how is this supposed to be helping again?

I could be spending this time in bed with a calculator and a glass of red instead.

And because I’m a damn adult and get to make the choice, I will.

* * *

_**September 25, 2014** _

That’s that. Storybrooke will not have a budget next year. We’re just going to have to improvise.

If today’s the last time I’ve had to deal with Locksley, it’s still more than any reasonable person should have to endure.

The nerve of him, volunteering to fill the vacancy on the commission!

He knows perfectly well I cannot stand him, with that smug smirk and smart mouth and that absurd (“boyish” - as if) flop of hair.I suppose he must think himself charming. II’d rather walk a mile barefoot on broken glass than try to come to any sort of agreement with the impertinent fool.

Ugh.

  * ~~Mood: >:-( frustrated and FURIOUS~~
  * ~~Sleep:~~



I don’t have time for this.

* * *

**_September 26, 2014_ **

Graham is coming over tonight. It’s supposed to make me feel… Excited? Aroused? Relieved, at least?

The arrangement suits me. Sex, with no strings attached. My body appreciates the attention, and Graham’s discreet. It’s...rather convenient. Not as fulfilling lately as it once was, but that’s normal once you settle into a routine. The sparks fizzles out eventually.

Maybe I’ll wear that horribly garish, skimpy lingerie he bought me months ago. I hope I haven’t burned it to a crisp like I’d wanted to.

(DON’T show this page to Dr Hopper. There’s only so much picking at my private affairs I can handle a time.)

  * Mood: :| just fine
  * Sleep: far too little
  * Coffee units: far too many
  * Grateful for: upcoming weekend (plans with Henry; also no risk of having to deal with Locksley for 2 whole days)



* * *

**_September 27, 2014_ **

I ran into him first thing in the morning.

Well, his son ran into me. Literally. Henry and I were grocery shopping, restocking on baking supplies (I need to my update my apple turnover recipe with yet another extra dash of cinnamon) when something barrelled right into my legs. Who’d have thought a Locksley would ever sweep me off my feet? Roland, his name is. He’s a precious child, cheerful and polite—he must take after his mother in character as well as looks.

Robin Locksley, on the other hand? He couldn’t wipe that grin off his face even for the moment it took him to apologize.

"Lovely day for a family outing, isn’t it?" he said to me.

Why the pretense? We both know we can’t stand each other.

It’s been a good day otherwise. I’ve missed spending time with Henry, just the two of us, busy in the kitchen, then spending a lazy afternoon with the newest issue of his favourite comic books.

He’s growing up so fast, and now he has a _girlfriend_ … How long until spending time with Mom becomes too uncool?

And on that bright note, I might as well go to sleep.

.

.

.

It's 2am and I'm wide awake.

The budget proposals don't look any more tempting now than by day.

How do I not char Locksley to a crisp on Monday? He's worked for non-profits all his life, what does he know about running a town? About balancing needs, tightening the belt here to invest more there?

He's not completely stupid. He listens attentively and speaks to the point--that's more than can be said for his predecessor. And he has the occasional good idea, if not a viable plan to put it into practice.

I can't magically make money stretch forever.

It's either the shelter or the nursery.

  * Mood: :-(
  * Sleep: none
  * Alcohol units: 2 (craving more, but hiking with Henry tomorrow today)
  * Grateful for: shelters, nurseries...whiskey



* * *

**_September 28, 2014_ **

I should have had that third drink.

Today would've been better spent hungover. I’d only be a marginally bigger disappointment to my son.

I don't hike. I haven't in years. And after today, I remember exactly why.

Our great adventure lasted all of 73 minutes and ended with a sprained ankle and my utter humiliation.

I called Graham to pick us up. He said he was _busy_ , but he’d ask someone else to get us. What the fuck does that even mean? Why would I want some random citizen to see me up to my neck in mud, graceless and defeated by a protruding root? I’d rather have walked home--or hopped, anyway.

But Robin Locksley once again proved his timing is impeccable when it comes to testing my already thin patience. He just happened to be walking that way, apparently. Purely coincidental. Then he had the audacity to offer to carry me a mile or two to his cabin in the woods, all the while with that impertinent smirk.

I lashed out.

I don’t remember all the things I said, but there were definitely words that would have Henry grounded until Christmas. Instead he was the one disciplining me.

I suppose I overreacted.

It certainly wiped the smile off Robin’s face by the time I was finished.

I’ve gotten no pleasure out of it. Only burning cheeks and a twisting stomach. God, I’m such a bitch.

I don’t know why Dr Hopper wastes time with me.

.

.

.

We’re back home. Robin drove us in the battered old pickup that’s definitely a life hazard. I bit my tongue and said nothing on the matter. That’s something at least. Though it also meant a deafening silence the whole ride.

  * Mood: :S absolutely mortified
  * Pain: 4/10
  * Grateful for: ice pack, Henry (every single day)



.

.

.

I should thank him.

Damn, I hate this conscience thing.

* * *

 

**_September 30, 2014_ **

He sent me flowers.

I wobbled into my office this morning and there they were, with a hand-painted get well card from Roland.

What the hell is Locksley playing at?

.

.

.

Another budgetary planning meeting, and Locksley is the same obnoxious adversary he’s always been. It’s oddly comforting. I don’t like to be coddled, and he certainly didn’t cut me any slack.

His arguments are getting old. Reasonable, but we’re running in circles. Animals in dire straits deserve a safe haven. Children deserve a place to grow and play while their parents put bread on the table. A dozen jobs combined on the line, volunteers excluded.

I know all this. Does he honestly think I don’t know all this? Or does he simply believe I don’t care?

Just because I’m not precious about it like Mary Margaret or a vocal man of the people like Locksley doesn’t mean I’m heartless.

I am not heartless. I know the stakes, damn it. But number won’t give, and I need to be rational, realistic.

Even if a woman in my position will be viewed as cold and bossy for doing her damn job governing this town.

.

.

.

~~_I would like to formally apologize for my tantrum in the forest._ ~~

~~_I shouldn’t have yelled, you were only trying to help._ ~~

~~_It was very decent of you to deign to come to my aid_ ~~

~~_I don’t need to be rescued, damn it. I’m not some damsel in distress_ ~~

~~_Thank you for the flowers, but what exactly are you doing?_ ~~

For fuck’s sake, get it together, Mills. Just thank the man for the help, how hard can it be?

 _Regina: T_ _hank you for driving Henry and me even though I was...difficult. And for the flowers, though they weren’t necessary. Please tell Roland I love the card._

One text shouldn’t take this long to compose. Thank goodness he’ll never know the effort it took. 

 _Robin:_ _Roland’s very happy to hear that and insists I tell you good night, sleep tight. ;) It was no hardship, really--nor were the flowers, as long as they brought you some joy. How’s the ankle faring? Good enough for heels, yeah? ;)_

That’s...sweet? The part about Roland, anyway. Robin, well…he’s politely interested. The man sure likes his winking emoji--smirking even now. It doesn’t bother me so much on screen.

 _Regina:_ _Ankle’s almost back to its normal size--higher heels tomorrow. I’ll be aiming for a steady enough walk that it doesn’t draw attention to my shoes._

 _Robin:_ _Who says it’s the limp that made me notice? ;)_

Is he--is he flirting with me?

What the hell does he think he’s doing? And why the fuck am I blushing like some simpering schoolgirl before her crush?

I can’t do this.

* * *

**_October 1, 2014_ **

_Robin:_ _I must apologise for my transgression. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Regina, but I clearly did--and for that, I’m sorry. I only hope I’ve not ruined all chances of a friendship between us?_

I woke up to this, and not I’m sitting in bed wondering what the fuck this all means.

Since when are we friends? Robin Locksley wants to be friends? Am I not his nemesis after all?

 

.

.

.

I asked him.

After the meeting, in which tempers had run hot once again as we’d thrown thinly-veiled insults at each other across the table.

“You think we’re friends?”

“I dared to hope we might be.”

“You want to be friends,” I repeated dumbly, because: “But...you hate me.”

“I most certainly do not. I have a great deal of respect for you, in fact.”

“You have a weird way of showing it.”

“It’s true, our exchanges have been heated. We’re both passionate people, and we both have strong convictions. I admire your work as mayor, and I’d like to contribute to the town’s well-being. I was under the impression we worked well together.”

“How?”

“We bounce ideas off each other, challenge each other’s perspective, look at issues from different angles until we find the best course of action.”

He’s not wrong. How come I’ve never seen it that way?

“I’m sick of going through my notes every night. Perhaps I could try yours for a change.”

And so here I am, poring through Robin’s surprisingly neat handwriting.

Not thinking about reelection. Or whether he’ll still vote for me. This is the year Gold's decided to run instead of backing someone else (not me--never me). He’ll be hard to beat. Not impossible, just...unpleasant and exhausting.

Right, the notes.

Shelter versus nursery; nursery versus shelter.

He doesn’t have any pros and cons lists, but I think I’ve uncovered a system to the madness. Robin likes to use mind maps to sort his ideas.

A new perspective.

It still doesn’t change the fact there’s only money for one in the budget. They can’t save both. Not unless he’s proposing to rob a bank to sponsor one of the institutions.

Not unless…

A _sponsor_.

Fuck.

 _Regina:_ _Robin, I think we’ve cracked it._

* * *

* * *

* * *

_**October 17, 2014** _

  * Coffee units: 3
  * Debates: 1
  * Outbursts: 1 / 1 (take note, Dr Hopper)



Gold’s campaign is as ferocious as they come. 

He was the talk of the town last week when he saved the shelter with an obscenely large private donation, proudly taking credit and majorly improving his standing with the voters. Just as we knew he would when I approached Gold to suggest it.

He sneered at me the way he does, mocked the idealism at the core of my cynicism, and thanked me for handing him the election.

The shelter stays open, the nursery stays open, and the town budget is soundly balanced.

So what if I have to work twice as hard to be reelected?

I’m not having to do it alone.

* * *

* * *

* * *

_**November 17, 2014** _

  * Sleep: about 7 hrs (decadent - Madam Mayor has a rare day off)
  * The best “sleep” Robin’s had in a long time: a number of hours, all of them well-spent :P
  * Mood: :-)))



Just...grateful.


End file.
